


I’m bleeding (and my fingers are stained as i paint)

by kyo1



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, May Parker is low key mean, Peter is not ok, Suicidal Peter Parker, Tony was good at some point, peter parker is depressed, trigger warning suicide, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24835768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyo1/pseuds/kyo1
Summary: Peter used to be really good at art. At expressing himself. But slowly he lost his precision. The meticulous effort he applied to his art was slowly fading away. He would paint and draw and sketch and write. But his once beautiful paintings of flowers morphed into something unexplainable.~~The didn’t hear you when you woke up and never got out of bed. They didn’t hear you when you’d stare at your balcony , wishing to jump. Because when you finally make peace. People care.When you’re standing at the edge , when the rope is already tied around your neck , when the blade already started to press , when the cap of the bottles of pills lays on the floor with the rest  ....they arrive. They don’t listen
Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 183





	I’m bleeding (and my fingers are stained as i paint)

**Author's Note:**

> MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING   
> YOUVE BEEN WARNED   
> NOTHING IS GRAPHIC, BUT STILL

Peter used to be really good at art. At expressing himself. But slowly he lost his precision. The meticulous effort he applied to his art was slowly fading away. He would paint and draw and sketch and write. But his once beautiful paintings of flowers morphed into something unexplainable.

He paints what he feels. Simple right? . But how do you paint something you don't understand? How do you learn something that's never been taught. How do you read something that's never been written? How do paint something that isn't tangible? The answer is , you don't. Well , you don't , but you try...right?

You see , when he was little he was gifted at art. He could paint sunshines and sunsets. Beaches , trees , landscapes ...etc. When he was older he got into more realistic drawings and painting. He then heard than painting your emotions and feelings was a thing. So he tried.

He started with drawing a broken plane. Only acceptable considering his parents died in a plane crash and he was far too young to even understand how to cope through the five stages of grief. His broken plane turned into a big sunflower. Ben's favorite flower.

He eventually learned to put away his mourning of his parents into a little box and continue with life. Because when life pushes you down, you are said to get back up. So that's what he did.

His painting of the sunflower soon turned into something more explicit. Soft yet calloused hands stained with a bold red, in the background a sidewalk painted with the same red and hues of red and blue off in the distance.

Ben died. So he paints.

His drawing were dark for months. His nightmares were quickly not just nightmares, they were displayed in canvases. But hidden in his closet . God forbid aunt may sees a painting of her dead husband in the crime scene. And the same way Peter hid his canvases, he hid his emotions. May was coping too , so Peter was there for her.

This time he didn't have the excuse to not cope with Ben's death, because he know knew how to cope with the five stages of grief. But you see, coping with his Uncles death means letting go of his guilt. And right now the only thing that still attaches him to Ben is his guilt , so without it , will he lose Ben? No , but part of him doesn't believe that.

He stopped painting after May found the canvases. She thought she would do laundry for Peter , checked the closet and saw the stacked canvases in the far corner to the left , hidden by a suitcase.

Peter enters the apartment to find the canvases sprawled out across the living room and a distraught May looking at them. May doesn't say anything to Peter. Instead she picks up a trash bag and throws it towards him and silently walks out of the room.

Peter never threw out the canvases.

But he stopped painting.

His teachers kept asking him why he stopped. He doesn't know. He doesn't know how to paint a hollow hole in your chest because the guilt of a death you thought you could've prevented is weighing you down and you're suffocating and it's slowly killing you and filling you up with nothing but dread and pain and you keep seeing the same blood red on your hands and no matter how much you scrub it won't go away and you still have blood under your fingernails and you can't scream , can't cry because you are too numb and-

"I'm just taking a break from painting , focusing on school work"

That actually would've worked if his grades weren't steadily dropping.

Peter moved out the old apartment with May. May clearly wanting him gone. The little subtle hints by saying "Gee Pete, already eighteen and still living with me" she would joke. So Peter moved out.

His new apartment had all of the old canvases hung on the walls. Sometimes he would scream and wish that the canvases would break the hold they have on him. He wanted to yell at the canvases , but couldn't even open his mouth. He would stare and the canvases and try to figure out if the lump in the back of his throat was a jumbled mess of unspoken words or a big ball of tears trying to escape. But the words never came , neither did the tears.

His apartment carried a heavy air. Felt small and crowded, but Peter has never felt so lost in anything like that before. He would walk out to his window and stare outside. Sometimes he would try to scream there , hoping someone will spot him and rescue him. But he can't move his lips. Can't make the scream break through the surface of the lump in his throat.

The silence weighs on him. It's so quiet that he hears his own heartbeat. Now it's irregular considering he runs on pure caffeine. He'd stay awake for days on end, cup after cup of coffee coursing his veins. He never slept. And when he did , it wasn't even sleep. It was passing out. He hasn't been doing a good job of existing now days.

He sat in his bedroom , a canvas and paint supplies in front of him. He started at it numbly for hours. Wishing for his fingers to work and pick up a paint brush. But he can't move. He gets up and goes to the shower. He turns of the coldest water setting and enters the tub , fully clothed.

He lays down as he feels the tub start to get filled with water and as the water hits his face softly , like rain. Distantly Peter remembers that it rained when Ben died. He slowly submerges his head under the freezing water. He holds his breath. His chest starts to burn , and he realizes that's the most he's felt in months.

He suddenly hears the sound of repuslors in the background. He rips through the surface of the water and rapidly closes the shower curtain. His bathroom door is opened rather roughly.

"Peter ?!" asked Mister Stark, concern laced in his voice.

Peter wishes he could see his face. Know what he feels , see something that is now foreign to him.

"I-I'm fine" Peter said coldly ,hmm , just like the bath water. The first words he's spoken in months. Feels weird , to break the dam that held his tongue. He'd gotten used to the silence in the apartment.

"An alert your watch sent said you weren't breathing. And I- , wait , you're inside there with the watch?" Mister Stark asked.

"Forgot to take it off , sorry" Peter said flatly. Still laying in the tub.

"If you're doing whatever you are doing inside of there , where's your clothes?" Mister Stark asked suspiciously. Eyeing the bathroom up and down.

"My room" Peter answered.

Suddenly the shower curtain ripped open , Mister Stark standing on the other side with his carefully tailored suit , and his iron man suit already stored away.

"What are you doing ? You have your clothes on?!" Mister Stark asked surprised.

"I could've been naked" Peter said

"Luckily you weren't... what are you- ahh! , why is the water so damn cold- get out of there before you freeze!" Mister Stark said as he touched the ice cold water.

"It doesn't feel cold" Peter said , a small frown on his face.

"Peter its fuck-, just get out of the water" Tony said.

"No , it feels nice" Peter said as he laid his head at the end of the tub and closed his eyes.

Peter felt surprised as Mister Stark pulled him out of the water. His clothes kept dripping and when he looked back to the tub , he didn't notice it was already full all the way.

Tony looked at Peter and studied him. The same way Peter studies his canvases. Tony noticed the far away look in Peters eyes. The hollowed out face , the purple bags under his dull eyes. He studies him with a frown. And that's the only difference between it , Peter studies his canvases with a smile , but now it's a silent scream that falls unheard.

"Peter...are you ok?" Tony asked as he gripped Peters arm tightly. Almost as if he were to let go , Peter would vanish. He's not far from the truth. Honestly, the touch is the only thing keeping Peter from disassociating.

"I'm surviving" Peter said nonchalantly as he shrugged.

“Pete ,this isn’t ok” Tony said gesturing at the tub and rest of the apartment. “Why were you even in there ?” Tony asked

“I don’t really know , but it felt nice” Peter said with a small voice, raspy from lack of use.

“Uhm , let’s get you warmed up” Tony said.

You see , people can pretend they care when it’s too late. When you already slipped. And claim they tried. Because they were there when you cried. But they didn’t hear you scream out their names in your head as you shiver beneath the shower .

The didn’t hear you when you woke up and never got out of bed. They didn’t hear you when you’d stare at your balcony , wishing to jump. Because when you finally make peace. People care.

When you’re standing at the edge , when the rope is already tied around your neck , when the blade already started to press , when the cap of the bottles of pills lays on the floor with the rest....they arrive. They don’t listen

Nobody ever does

But they arrive . They are present . Even for a few minutes. And it shows you that they could feel guilty.

Feel

Feels

Felt

People say it selfish when you want to die , but aren’t you being selfish, making me go through my pain ?

I’m selfish

And i’m bleeding

But don’t you worry now

You never did before

Why start at the end ?

Why read my story when i finished the ending ?

Why mourn me when i was already dead for months ?

Why care when i wasn’t even worth it in the first place ?

Why stay when you left already ?

Leave me , that’s the only thing people around me are good at doing.

Tony leaves Peter

Doesn’t call . Doesn’t text . Peter drowns , and

no repulsors arrive.

You see , he saw the mess of Peter Parker

And left

About time Peter left too

~ _In loving memory of Peter Parker_

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed ! I know this is different from my other works , but angst and smut are my best fields in writing fanfic lmaoo. Leave kudos <33


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